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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28271439">Christmas in the Time of Covid</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsconne/pseuds/rsconne'>rsconne</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2020 is a shitshow, Christmas, Clarke and Lexa are neighbors, Clexmas 2020, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Holiday Cheer, Masturbation, Modern AU, Quarantine, Useless Lesbians, srsly I wrote it and I don't know wtf to tag it, the walls are thin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:34:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,245</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28271439</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsconne/pseuds/rsconne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa gets a new neighbor.  Will they spend a quarantine Christmas together?  (spoiler: of course they effing will, this is a Clexa fic!)<br/>I am at a loss for how to describe this, but here's a few thousand words of Clexa being useless lesbians and then shenanigans ensue at Christmas.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clarke Griffin/Lexa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>201</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I haven't written anything in over a year.  2020 has been a pretty epic shitstorm on a personal and professional level.  I know this isn't the greatest story, but I wanted to contribute *something*, and maybe hacking at this will help me get back to who I am; somehow I've lost that person and I don't know how to find her again.  </p>
<p>No, it's not finished--I write slow and I don't have time to get it all done before the holidays are over.  Yes, I do have a plan for the rest of it.  When will it update?  I wish I knew.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Who moved in the middle of a pandemic?  </em>
</p>
<p>Rationally, Lexa knew that most people couldn’t simply put their lives on hold indefinitely.  With the crisis now months-old—and no end in sight for the foreseeable future—pandemic weariness was setting in and people longed for a return to normality.  Going to the movies.  Hitting the bar to grab drinks with friends.  Getting their hair and nails done.  Life happened, and the bills were due regardless.  But Lexa still couldn’t imagine apartment hunting under these risky conditions, certainly not by choice. </p>
<p>Apparently her new next-door neighbor had had no such qualms, though.  Judging from the heavy footsteps and not-so-muffled thuds, the movers had arrived first thing.  They’d been in and out before Lexa finished her first cup of coffee; she’d breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that at least she’d be able to work without noise distractions. </p>
<p>How wrong she was.</p>
<p>She had no sooner sat down at her desk and booted up her computer, determined to finally crank out the book review that was now verging on three months overdue, when music and bass began thumping through the wall.  Lexa caught herself humming along with the Taylor Swift refrain and swore.  She’d never realized just how thin the walls were.  Other than the occasional daytime soap, she’d rarely heard a peep out of the last tenant, a retired church secretary.  But Mrs. Feldman had given up the apartment in the summer to move into her son’s quarantine bubble, and it seemed the new tenant had younger, louder tastes. </p>
<p>The distinct strain of “Shake It Off” came on, and Lexa was pretty sure she could even hear the neighbor singing along.  She tossed her glasses on her desk with a sigh and decided to give up, at least for the moment.  She wasn’t in the mood to write the review anyway, and she definitely didn’t want to be THAT neighbor, the irritating one who banged on the wall with noise complaints. </p>
<p>She walked into the kitchen and poured herself a second cup of coffee, then wandered out the glass door onto her apartment’s tiny balcony.  She wasn’t <em>trying</em> to be nosy, but the music selection had piqued her curiosity about the new resident, whom she hadn’t actually seen yet.  Probably someone young—or at least younger than Mrs. F, she mused, although that really didn’t narrow it down much.  And probably a woman.  Lexa had yet to meet the dude who professed an affinity for Tay Tay—though it could be a gay guy, she speculated, warming to the guessing game.  She sipped her coffee and subtly craned her neck to try to catch a glimpse of the new tenant.</p>
<p>
  <strong>*****</strong>
</p>
<p>A full week went by before Lexa laid eyes on her new neighbor.  She’d intended to pop by to introduce herself, but with the crush of midterms to grade, she’d hardly left the apartment herself.  Besides, with most sensible people keeping their distance from strangers, Lexa wasn’t sure how the overture might be received. </p>
<p>It was a damp, cold Thursday morning.  Lexa had run out of coffee, and with no time to make a grocery run, she opted to treat herself to the fancy coffee shop down the block.  Not bothering to change out of her flannel pajama pants, she tugged on her well-worn, oversized Arkadia U hoodie and masked up.  Pandemic couture. </p>
<p>Lexa took her time on the way back from the coffee shop, letting the heat of the coffee warm her hands and enjoying the fall color and the bite of a brisk November morning.  Just as she reached for the door of her apartment building, it flew open without warning.  A blonde woman Lexa hadn’t seen before barreled out the door and crashed directly into her. </p>
<p>“What the fuck!” Lexa hissed—more from shock than from real pain—as hot coffee sloshed all down the front of her hoodie.  The stranger’s eyes widened in panic and she instinctively reached out her hands as if to steady Lexa or somehow magically return the coffee to its container. </p>
<p>“Oh shit!  Oh my God, I’m so sorry!  Are you ok?  I didn’t see you!”  The other woman apologized profusely and made as if to pat Lexa down until it registered that she was a stranger and she had nothing to absorb the spilled liquid with anyway.  She quickly backpedaled around Lexa, walking backwards and stammering fretfully as she continued toward the street.  “Crap, I really can’t—I’ve got to—look, I’ll make it up to you, I promise!” she called to Lexa, then turned and practically ran down the street.</p>
<p>Lexa stood in the doorway of her building watching the stranger make her escape, jaw agape, half-empty cup in hand and cooling coffee soaking into her hoodie.  The encounter lasted mere seconds and afterwards Lexa wasn’t sure how much was real and how much of it she’d imagined.  She hadn’t even gotten a good look at the other woman—just short, wavy blonde hair and startled blue eyes above a Captain America mask.  But for the rest of the day, Lexa couldn’t shake the image of those eyes and the impression of solid, yet soft curves.</p>
<p>
  <strong>*****</strong>
</p>
<p>“So how’s the new place?  I wish we could’ve helped you move.”</p>
<p>Clarke closed the door of said new place behind her and dropped her keys on the cluttered table.  She shrugged out of her coat, holding the phone to first one ear, then the other, then sank gratefully onto the sofa.  “It’s…good,” she replied vaguely, surveying the jumble of unopened and half-unpacked boxes stacked haphazardly around her apartment.</p>
<p>Octavia’s eyeroll was audible even through the phone.  “Way to be forthcoming.” </p>
<p>“No, really, O—it’s good.  Or it will be,” Clarke amended hastily.  “I just haven’t had time to unpack, work’s been so busy.”</p>
<p>“It’s been over a month, Clarke.  You can’t eat pizza forever, you know.”</p>
<p>Clarke suppressed a groan and pointedly ignored the empty pizza boxes piled neatly beside the trash can.  Octavia was a good friend, but she could be like a dog with a bone once she got her claws into something.  Teeth.  Whatever.   She shook off the mixed metaphors.  “Really.  It’s a nice space, good neighborhood.  Close to the University.  Lots of cute shops and bars I can walk to.  You know, if we can ever do that again.”</p>
<p>“Scurvy, Clarke.  It’s A Thing.”</p>
<p>Clarke slumped back into the sofa cushions.  “Ugh, <em>fine</em>!  It’s weird!  What do you want me to say?  Not the apartment—it really <em>is</em> fine.  I just…” her voice trailed off as she tried to find the right words to explain her emotions, but really, how did one put words to the shock of catching your live-in boyfriend sexting with another woman on Zoom in the midst of a pandemic?  “…never thought I’d wind up here.  But I guess we all feel that way.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.  Fucking COVID,” Octavia agreed, seemingly mollified having elicited an emotional response from Clarke.  “Still—hang in there, you’re gonna get through this.  And unpack your shit, dude.  If we ever get to party indoors again, I’m expecting one helluva housewarming throwdown.”</p>
<p>Clarke laughed.  “No tequila this time.”</p>
<p>“God, no.”  Clarke took that as her cue to get off the phone, but it seemed that Octavia hadn’t finished holding her feet to the fire.  “So, how’s Green Eyes?” she asked casually.</p>
<p>Clarke was glad there was no one else in the apartment to see her blush.  “Who?”  She winced; the denial seemed forced even to her own ears.</p>
<p>Octavia was having none of it.  “You know <em>exactly</em> who.  Your neighbor.  Coffee girl.  The one you couldn’t stop talking about.  ‘Her <em>eyes</em>, Octavia, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that shade before!’” Octavia mimicked.</p>
<p>“Shut up, O, I did not!”  Clarke squeezed her eyes together and tried to will away the memory of long lashes and blazing green.</p>
<p>Octavia cackled, “You so did!  God, I wish I could’ve seen your face after you dumped coffee all over this hottie!”</p>
<p>“She’s not a ‘hottie!’  She had a mask on, I haven’t even seen her face!” </p>
<p>“Bet you’ve seen her ass, though.”  Octavia hooted at Clarke’s telling silence.  “Come on, Clarke, woman up and ask her out.”</p>
<p>“Oh, sure, I’m just going to knock on her door and say, ‘Hi, I tried to scald you to death and then I ran away.  Wanna grab a slice?’  Like she’d even talk to me,” Clarke scoffed.</p>
<p>“Ok, maybe don’t lead with that.  But for real, have you even talked to her?”</p>
<p>“I meant to, but then the Coffee Incident happened.  And I’ve been slammed and working odd hours all week, I haven’t even gotten a chance to apologize properly.  I left a note and a gift basket from the coffee shop on the corner by her front door.”</p>
<p>“So go knock on her door and offer to grind her beans.”</p>
<p>“<em>O!</em>”  Clarke squirmed and tried to ignore the little thrill that Octavia’s cheap innuendo sparked in her belly. </p>
<p>“I bet she’s got plenty of cream for your sugar.”</p>
<p>Clarke covered her face.  “Oh my God, stop!”</p>
<p>“Ok, ok,” Octavia relented, still laughing.  “But seriously, you’re making this into too big a deal.  Go say hi and see what happens.  You know what they say, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”</p>
<p>“That’s not a real thing.”</p>
<p>“Only one way to find out.”</p>
<p>
  <strong>*****</strong>
</p>
<p>Clarke was in the middle of her cardio and core workout when she heard a knock at the door.  “Just a sec,” she called.  She wiped her face with a towel and walked to the door, still a bit breathless and mentally cursing the sick sonofabitch who’d invented burpees.  “Yeah?  Oh!  Uh…hi.”</p>
<p>Green Eyes—<em>neighbor, dammit</em>—was standing in her doorway.  Her soft, blue-and-grey flannel, the sleeves rolled to expose delicate wrists and smooth forearms, was French-tucked (<em>thank you, Tan France</em>) into form-fitting denim that hugged the woman’s slender frame in the best way. On her feet, incongruously, she wore a pair of fuzzy raccoon slippers.  Clarke didn’t actually register any of this at first, though, because this time the woman wasn’t wearing a mask, and oh, Octavia was right. </p>
<p>She <em>was</em> a hottie. </p>
<p>Her thick brown waves were held back in a loose knot secured with a pen.  Delicate brows arched over that splash of green—muted today behind a pair of small, neat, tortoiseshell glasses, bold cheekbones, full lips parted in an “o” of surprise.  Caught completely off guard, Clarke struggled valiantly not to stare.  It didn’t help when the other woman—who seemed almost as taken aback as Clarke, if her rapid swallow was any indication—licked her lips to moisten them before she spoke.</p>
<p>“Um, hi, I’m sorry to bother you.  I live next door.” She thumbed awkwardly to her left.  “Are you Clarke…Griffin?” she asked, squinting <strike>adorably</strike> owlishly at an envelope in her hand.  “I’m—”</p>
<p>“Lexa,” Clarke murmured.  <em>Oh shit, did I say that out loud?</em>  She cleared her throat and avoided Lexa’s quizzical look.  “I might have asked around.”</p>
<p>“Anyway,” Lexa continued after a beat, “some of your mail got mixed in with mine.”  She handed Clarke a couple of envelopes.</p>
<p>“Oh, thanks!  Sorry about that.”</p>
<p>“I also wanted to say thanks for the coffee.”</p>
<p>Clarke put a hand over her face and groaned.  “Again, I’m really sorry for bailing like that.  I’m usually not that much of a disaster, but I was late for work.  My hours have been all over the place, or I’d have stopped by to apologize in person.  I figured coffee was the least I could do.”</p>
<p>Lexa waved her off.  “Really, it’s fine.  You helped me put off buying groceries for another couple of days,” she said with a wry smile.  “What is it you do?”</p>
<p>“I’m a physical therapist.  Our practice was shut down for most of the summer, and now we’ve got a huge backlog of patients.  Hey, do you want to come in?”  Clarke held the door open wider and gestured inside.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’d like—oh shit!”  Lexa clapped both hands over her mouth and took a half step backward.  Her eyes rounded in worry. “I forgot my mask!” she said through her fingers.  “I should probably go.”</p>
<p>Clarke had been too absorbed <strike>with Lexa’s face</strike> in the conversation to remember to heed social distancing etiquette, but at Lexa’s reaction she also took a step backward, internally raging and despairing about the necessity for it.  “Shit, you’re right.  We’re more than six feet apart, though, I’m sure we’re fine.”</p>
<p>“It’s good to finally meet you, Clarke,” Lexa offered with a little wave as she backed toward her own door.</p>
<p>“Likewise.  Hey, if I don’t see you, have a good Thanksgiving!”</p>
<p>“You too!”</p>
<p>
  <strong>*****</strong>
</p>
<p>To Lexa’s disappointment, Thanksgiving came and went without a Clarke sighting.  Lexa spent the better part of the day sacked out on her sofa watching football and cheering for whoever was playing against Dallas.  The other side of the wall was silent, so she assumed Clarke must have had plans.  Since their chat in Clarke’s doorway, Lexa’s thoughts wandered to her neighbor more and more frequently: the cute flush of embarrassment on her cheeks, the low rasp of her chuckle, and her <em>body</em>….  Lexa had tried, she really had.  But was it really her fault that Clarke had answered the door wearing spandex leggings and a form-fitting tank top that accentuated her figure?  She thanked her lucky stars that Clarke had been too occupied with toweling away the glisten of sweat to notice Lexa swooning into her cleavage and nearly swallowing her own tongue before she got a grip.  Was it any wonder that Clarke figured more and more prominently in the daydreams that distracted Lexa when she was meant to be marking student work? </p>
<p>Even though Lexa hadn’t seen Clarke for a week or two, she’d heard plenty.  Clarke wasn’t deliberately loud, but she clearly enjoyed relaxing with music.  Lexa didn’t intentionally eavesdrop—she knew she really should say something to her neighbor about lowering the volume because she supposed it could be construed as an invasion of privacy—but she secretly enjoyed Clarke’s musical tastes.  She caught herself speculating about Clarke’s mood based on her playlists.  Upbeat pop, anthem rock, and a hodgepodge of classic rock when she was in a good mood; Pitbull, Flo Rida, and pulsing hiphop for workouts (and Lexa forced herself <em>not</em> to imagine firm thighs flexing to the beat); more muted sounds of blues and jazz that Lexa imagined as the backdrop for cooking or other mellow moments. </p>
<p>It was all reasonably innocuous.  Except for that one time. </p>
<p>It was the week before Christmas.  The end-of-term crush was on, and Lexa had been up to all hours several days running trying to dig out from under the mountain of finals.  Tonight was no exception.  She finally yawned and leaned back from her desk, massaging the crick in her neck.  She glanced at the clock and grimaced.  She’d sworn she’d call it quits at 10, but here it was 2am.  <em>Again</em>.  She switched off her laptop and desk lamp and trundled off to her bedroom, not bothering to smother another jaw-cracking yawn.  She brushed her teeth in a haze and toppled straight into bed, certain that she’d be out as soon as her head hit the pillow.</p>
<p>Except she heard a noise coming from Clarke’s side of the wall.  A groan.  It was muffled at first, enough that Lexa almost wrote it off.  But then she heard it again.  And again, louder this time, and more of a moan than a groan.  <em>Oh.  Oh no.  Is she?  No.</em>  More moans, now with a hitch in them.  <em>Fuck, she IS.  </em></p>
<p>Lexa felt her ears burn in the darkness.  She tugged a pillow over her head to try to drown out the sound, <em>knowing</em> that this was something she had no business listening to.  But even with the pillow over her head, even though she could no longer hear Clarke’s voice—or perhaps Clarke had just hit her climax and gone silent in a boneless puddle (and Lexa wasn’t sure which of those options was worse, because now the image of Clarke peaking, panting and breathless, two fingers buried deep, was seared into her consciousness)—it was too late.  Clarke’s guttural cries echoed as if on repeat and her traitorous brain helpfully supplied visuals: Clarke’s mouth falling open, fingers clutching at bedsheets, back bowed and hips straining, chanting Lexa’s name….</p>
<p>Lexa growled in frustration and gave her pillow a savage thump.  She rolled onto her other side and tried in vain to banish the slickness and slow throb between her legs.  For an instant, she even considered sliding her hands down her body and taking care of the situation, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. </p>
<p><em>I’d never be able to look her in the face again</em>.</p>
<p><em>Like you’re going to be able to look her in the face NOW</em>, mocked the little devil on her shoulder.</p>
<p>Lexa sighed heavily and flopped onto her back, all hope for rest gone.  She thrashed about for hours, finally dropping into a fitful doze just before dawn.</p>
<p>
  <strong>*****</strong>
</p>
<p>She never should have told Anya.  She wouldn’t have, except for what happened next.  Somehow Anya had a knack for getting under her skin and teasing out mortifying details that Lexa had intended to take to her grave.  Lexa thought it must be Anya’s superpower (though whether she used those powers for good or for evil remained an open question; with the subjective clarity of a younger sibling, Lexa was convinced that Anya served dark forces, or at the very least, a morally ambiguous trickster goddess).  Not that Anya needed an actual lasso of truth; a few leading questions were usually all it took for Lexa to fold like a cheap suit.</p>
<p>“So you’re still on for Mom and Dad’s—Jesus, Lex, am I boring you <em>that </em>much?” Anya’s annoyance wasn’t entirely feigned.</p>
<p>“Huh?  No!  What do you mean?”  Lexa gave herself a guilty shake.  What with competing schedules and time zones, she hadn’t Zoomed with her sister in over a month, and here she was zoning out in the middle of it.</p>
<p>“That’s the third time you’ve yawned in the last five minutes.”</p>
<p>“Sorry.”  Lexa scrubbed a hand over tired eyes.  “I just haven’t slept much lately.” </p>
<p>“Got yourself a bubble buddy, huh?” Anya teased with a cheeky grin.</p>
<p>“What?  No!  It wasn’t like that—” Lexa felt herself digging a deeper hole with each denial, but she was too sleep deprived to reel it in.</p>
<p>Anya’s smirk grew.  She’d only meant the offhand crack as a joke; who knew there was paydirt?  “<em>Ohh?</em>  So who’s this not-bubble buddy who’s keeping you up at night?”</p>
<p>“She’s not keeping me up…I mean, it was just the one time….”</p>
<p>“Not like you to hit it and quit it.”</p>
<p>Lexa let out a resigned sigh.  No way Anya would let this go now.  “You know I told you about Clarke?”</p>
<p>Anya whooped loudly. “The sexy neighbor chick with the great rack?  You finally hooked up with her?”</p>
<p>“Shh!” Lexa turned down the volume on her laptop and spoke in an outraged hiss; she knew all too well how easily sound carried.  “What the hell, Anya!  All I said was that she was cute!”</p>
<p>Anya snickered, “Lex, for you to admit you like someone, that means she must be smoking hot, and we both know you’re a boobs woman.”</p>
<p>“I don’t <em>like</em> her—” Lexa broke off for a beat, then took a breath and said, “Fine, I like her.  But we didn’t ‘hook up.’  We haven’t really even talked since that time I told you about.”</p>
<p>Anya’s expression was a mix of exasperation and confusion.  “If you still haven’t asked her out—which, by the way, come <em>on</em>, Lexa—then what’s going on?  We both know you want to tell me, stop making me drag it out of you.”</p>
<p>Lexa took a slug of her beer and set the bottle down before answering.  “I went to bed late the night before last—<em>by myself</em>.  And I was almost asleep, but the walls are really thin, and so I Heard Things.”  The last few words came out in a rush.</p>
<p>“O-kayyy,” Anya said slowly, not quite following.</p>
<p>Lexa’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper.  “It was <em>Clarke</em>.  You know.  <em>Alone.</em>  I <em>heard </em>her!”</p>
<p>Anya’s lips twitched as if trying to hold back a grin and her eyes danced, but she wasn’t letting Lexa off the hook so easily.  “Heard her do what?”</p>
<p>Lexa shot her sister a dirty look and replied through clenched teeth, “<em>Touching</em> herself.”  Anya burst out laughing, as much at Lexa’s reaction as at the situation.  “Oh, shut up, that’s not the worst part,” Lexa said, a touch of irritation creeping in.</p>
<p>“Oh shit, there’s <em>more?</em>” Anya chortled.</p>
<p>Lexa took another sip of her drink.  “This morning, I was downstairs in the lobby getting my mail when Clarke came in.”  She flashed on a crooked beanie over wind-tousled blonde tips and blue the color of a cloudless, midwinter sky.  “She was coming back from the store, and when she walked into the building, one of her bags broke and spilled all over the floor, so I helped her pick up her stuff.”  Lexa’s cheeks burned almost as much at the memory as they had in the moment, when she had assiduously tried to avoid Clarke’s eye, even as they’d squatted on the floor, their hands and thighs almost touching as they gathered Clarke’s belongings.  “Anyway, she had one of those big 24-packs of AA batteries that fell out and I couldn’t help it, I said, ‘Oh, got a big weekend planned?’”</p>
<p>Anya howled with laughter. </p>
<p>Lexa continued defensively, face aflame.  “I mean, I hadn’t slept, and it was on my mind and it just came out!”  She closed her eyes, recalling Clarke’s baffled expression and her own flailing attempt to walk it back.  ‘<em>Finals…tired…loud…thin walls</em>,” she’d croaked, flapping a hand to try to wave the comment away before Clarke caught wise.  But it was too late.  Even with the mask on, she saw the precise moment that the penny dropped: Clarke sucked in her breath and froze.  Her eyes shot up to Lexa’s, but instead of shame or embarrassment there was another emotion in the darkening blue.  Lexa couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but it sent a ripple of goosebumps over her.  Rather than face the moment head-on, though, she’d panicked, given a tongue-tied excuse—and fled.</p>
<p>
  <strong>***Christmas Eve***</strong>
</p>
<p>Clarke curled up on her sofa with an audible sigh and dragged her buffalo plaid throw blanket over her legs.  It felt good to relax.  In years past, she might have felt dejected and miserable at spending Christmas on her own.  Given the shitshow of the past year, though, she was perfectly satisfied to skip the parties and hoopla and hunker down alone in her apartment.  It didn’t feel exactly like Christmas, but it was at least a four-day weekend.  She was well-stocked with snacks and booze, and Clarke planned to make the most of the time unwinding and bingeing holiday fare.  She’d just opened her Netflix queue and was deciding between <em>The Holidate</em> or <em>A Bad Moms Christmas</em> when all hell broke loose next door.</p>
<p>Piercing shrieks shattered the tranquility, followed by a succession of loud crashes and thuds, and the sound of things smashing.  Then silence.  Clarke didn’t think, she just reacted.  She grabbed the baseball bat she kept beside her door and raced next door.  “Lexa?” she called, pounding on her neighbor’s door.  “Lexa?  Are you all right?”</p>
<p>No answer.</p>
<p><em>Shit.</em>  Clarke tried the door, her anxiety growing.  It was open, also a worrisome sign, since from what little she knew of Lexa, she didn’t seem the type to leave her door unlocked.  She eased the door open with the bat.  Inside, the pleasant scent of fresh spruce stood in contrast to the carnage before her.  A Christmas tree sprawled drunkenly across the sofa.  A coffee table was overturned and an armchair lay on its side.  Shards of broken glass and glitter littered a large swath of the floor.  Most ominously, a trail of bloody footprints led deeper into the apartment.</p>
<p>“<em>Lexa!!</em>” </p>
<p>Still no answer.  Adrenaline pumping and her heart in her throat, Clarke hefted the bat and edged her way into the apartment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Lexa needs some of Clarke's doctoring.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I appreciate the kind words on the first chapter, it actually made me want to get more of this written.  I'm going to try to write shorter chapters and maybe get the rest of this done before, you know, *next* Clexmas.</p><p>Happy Holidays, y'all.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clarke tread carefully through Lexa’s living room, partly to avoid the broken glass, but mostly to avoid making noise in case there was still an intruder in the apartment.  She kicked herself for rushing out of her own apartment without her phone, but it was a little late to back out now.  She crept slowly past a wall lined with bookshelves toward what she assumed—since this was the reverse image of her own apartment—would be Lexa’s bedroom.  There was a light on in the bathroom.  The bloody smears on the floor led in that direction; Clarke followed.</p><p>“Lexa?” she called softly.  She nudged the door open.  “Shit!”  Lexa was slumped on the bathroom floor.  Her feet were bleeding, and she looked to be woozy, if not out cold.  Clarke resisted the impulse to go to her right away.  Instead, she continued on to the bedroom, where a swift check confirmed that there was no one else in the apartment.  Relieved on that count at least, Clarke dropped the bat and hurried back to the bathroom.  She knelt on the floor next to Lexa and put a hand behind her back to help ease her upright.</p><p>“Lexa!  Lexa, can you hear me?  What happened?”</p><p>Lexa’s eyes fluttered open, but she was still ghostly pale.  Clarke began gently assessing her.  There wasn’t a great deal of blood on the floor and other than Lexa’s feet, she didn’t see any visible injuries, but she needed to make sure the pallor wasn’t from blood loss.  “Where are you hurt?” </p><p>Lexa’s voice was reedy, but clear.  “Just my feet.  Oh, and my hand,” she winced as she lifted her left one.  There were several nasty scratches on the back, still oozing blood.  Lexa glanced at the wound and blanched.</p><p>“Lexa!  Hey, hey—look at me!” Clarke gently tipped Lexa’s chin up so their eyes made contact.  At that, Lexa began to regain some color.  “It’s not bad.  Your feet look a little worse, but it doesn’t look serious.  Talk to me, what happened?  Did someone break in?”</p><p>Lexa started to shake her head but quickly stopped, grimacing.  “No, it was just an accident.  I put up the Christmas tree and I was decorating it, and I decided to put Cas’s sweater on him.  But he started having a tantrum and climbed the tree and knocked it over, and then he <em>really </em>spazzed out.  I tried to catch him, and that’s when I stepped on the glass.  I was trying to get to the bathroom to get a bandaid, but—” her eyes slid away and she looked embarrassed “—I kind of have a phobia of blood.  I think I must have passed out.”</p><p>Clarke nodded slowly, still a little bewildered, but at least her anxiety was lifting.  “Who’s Cas?”</p><p>“My cat.  General Casimir Purr-laski.”</p><p>“Your cat,” Clarke repeated flatly.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Your cat did this.” </p><p>“Uh huh.”  Lexa looked sheepish.  “He’s kind of an asshole.”</p><p>Clarke collapsed into a sitting position beside Lexa and laughed hysterically as the stress and adrenaline suddenly wore off.  She swatted Lexa’s shoulder in faux outrage.  “Jesus <em>Christ</em>, Lexa, you scared the <em>shit</em> out of me!  I thought you were being <em>murdered</em> in here!”</p><p>“I’m sorry—”</p><p>“No, no, it’s fine.  I’m glad you’re all right.”  Clarke squeezed Lexa’s undamaged hand for reassurance and felt her pulse quicken a tick at Lexa’s shuddery inhale.  She cast a critical eye at Lexa’s feet.  “You’re going to need more than a Band-Aid, though.  Let’s get you patched up.  Where’s your first-aid supplies?”</p><p>Clarke levered herself upright and followed Lexa’s directions to find the necessary items in the bathroom cupboard.  She propped Lexa’s lower legs in her lap and said, “All right, I’m going to clean these cuts and see if we can get by with just bandaging them.  I’ll try to go easy, but this is probably going to hurt a bit.”  She felt Lexa start to tremble and she quickly took her hand again.  “Hey hey hey—it’s ok.  Don’t look at what I’m doing with my hands, just keep your eyes up here.  On me.”  She gestured with two fingers between Lexa’s eyes and her own.  Lexa nodded and exhaled slowly.</p><p>Clarke set to work.  At Lexa’s first wince, she said casually, “So you’re a professor, right?”</p><p>Lexa answered through gritted teeth.  “Yeah, at Arkadia.  How’d you know?”</p><p>Clarke hummed noncommittally.  “What do you teach?” </p><p>“Military history.”</p><p>“Anything in particular?”</p><p>“Ouch—right now I’m prepping a class on the American Civil War, trying to add a unit on memory and commemoration, what with Black Lives Matter and all the monument controversies.”</p><p>Clarke kept asking questions to keep her talking and her mind off of what she was doing.  It was a long few minutes, but far less of an ordeal than Lexa had expected.</p><p>“Ok, I’m all done,” Clarke said, giving Lexa’s calf a gentle pat. </p><p>“Thank you,” Lexa said.  “You’re really good at this.”</p><p>Clarke shrugged a shoulder.  “I did a year and a half of med school.  But don’t thank me yet.  The good news is that this foot looks ok and I got all the bits of glass out.  The <em>bad</em> news is that you’ve got a deep cut on the other foot that’s gonna need stitches and I think there’s still a sliver in there that I can’t get.”  She nodded at Lexa’s hand.  “That cat scratch looks pretty gnarly, too.  When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?” </p><p>Lexa looked blank.  “Uh….”</p><p>“That’s what I thought.”  Clarke carefully lifted Lexa’s legs out of her lap.  “I’m taking you to urgent care.”</p><p>“What?  No,” Lexa protested weakly.  “Can’t I just give it another day and see how it goes?  If it’s not getting better I can go then.”</p><p>Clarke’s resolve wavered a little at the pleading look on Lexa’s face, but she shook her head.  “Nope.  It needs to be stitched while the wound is still fresh, and you <em>really</em> don’t want to get an infection.”</p><p>Lexa huffed.  “<em>Fine</em>.”  Clarke smothered a smile.  Under different circumstances, she would have made it her mission to kiss that little pout off Lexa’s lips, but now wasn’t the time.</p><p>“Let me grab my coat and we’ll go.”</p><p>Clarke dashed back for her keys and winter garb and then helped Lexa gingerly to her feet.  She put her arm around Lexa and supported her out of the building and to the car, one agonizing hop at a time.  She was focused on keeping Lexa upright and in as little pain as possible, but it was hard not to savor the way that Lexa’s body melted against her own or the whisper of her curls against Clarke’s neck.  It was a cold night, but Clarke was warm all over by the time they reached the car. </p><p>
  <strong>*****</strong>
</p><p>Urgent care allowed only patients in the waiting room because of the COVID regulations, so Clarke huddled in the car while Lexa got checked out.  It was nearly midnight by the time she was released, feet and hand bandaged and meds in hand.  It was a quiet ride home.  They were both too tired—and Lexa too medicated—for lengthy conversation.  Clarke helped Lexa back up to her apartment and got her tucked into bed.  The culprit, Cas, returned to the scene of the crime and hopped onto the bed by Lexa’s feet, looking contrite (though Clarke couldn’t help but wonder—like Thor in <em>Ragnarok</em>—is he, though?). </p><p>“I’m gonna go home now.  Have you got everything you need?” Clarke said.</p><p>“Yeah,” Lexa said listlessly.</p><p>“You ok?”  Clarke said, concerned.  She knew Lexa was probably subdued from the meds, but sometimes they could cause nausea or other reactions.</p><p>“Yeah, just…so much for Christmas.”  Lexa turned her head away from Clarke, but she couldn’t disguise her sniffle or the solitary tear that leaked down her cheek.</p><p>Clarke sat on the edge of the bed.  “It’s going to be ok, Lex—” somehow the nickname felt <em>right</em> on her tongue.  “The cuts aren’t that bad, they should heal in a few days.” </p><p>Lexa shook her head on the pillow and sniffled a little more.  “It’s not that.  I was supposed to go to my parents’ tomorrow.  My brother and sister are both going to be there, we haven’t all been together in forever.  I’ve been keeping a strict quarantine for the last two weeks so I could go, but now I’ve broken my bubble because of this stupid accident.”  She gestured at her foot in disgust.  “Even if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be able to drive, anyway.”   </p><p>Clarke was quiet for a moment, reflecting on how 2020 continued to exact its toll on all of them.  She took a deep breath and said slowly, not sure how her offer would be received, “I know it won’t be the same as family, but I could come over tomorrow and spend Christmas with you.  If you want.  I mean, we’re kind of in each other’s quarantine bubbles now.”</p><p>“Oh, Clarke!”  Lexa’s lower lip quivered and she became more visibly upset than before.</p><p>“No, no, it’s fine,” Clarke said quickly, trying not to feel crestfallen.  “It was just an idea.  If you don’t want company, I get it.”</p><p>“It’s not that.  I’m <em>so sorry</em>.  You’ve broken <em>your</em> bubble taking care of me, and now I’ve probably ruined your plans, too!”</p><p>Clarke relaxed, realizing she wasn’t being rejected after all.  “You haven’t,” she said lightly.  “I didn’t have any plans to ruin.  My mom’s a doctor.  She works on the COVID ward, so I can’t see her anyway because of the exposure risk.  And my dad…my dad’s been gone for a long time, and I don’t have any siblings.  I was just going to get some takeout and watch movies tomorrow.”  She leaned in and said quietly, “I’d actually really like to spend the day with <em>you</em>, Lexa, if you’ll have me.”</p><p>Lexa’s teary eyes searched Clarke’s face and lingered on Clarke’s lips.  She nodded emphatically.  “I’d like that, too.”</p><p>Clarke’s smile lit the room.  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”  She stood to go, wishing she could press a kiss to Lexa’s forehead, but figuring it was probably too forward.  “Yell if you need anything, I’ll probably hear you.”    </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Clarke comes over for Christmas and all kinds of fluff ensues.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The plan was to write shorter chapters, but Clexa had other ideas.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clarke knocked on Lexa’s door late the next morning.  She shifted nervously from one foot to another while she waited for Lexa to come to the door.  She’d lain awake well into the early morning hours, anticipating Christmas morning more than she had in years, perhaps since she was a child who still believed in Santa.  A long moment passed with no answer and Clarke’s anxiety began to kick in.  She knocked again, hoping fervently that Lexa hadn’t had a change of heart about Christmas.</p><p>“Be there in a sec!” came Lexa’s muffled voice. </p><p>Reassured that they were still on, Clarke’s anticipation mounted as Lexa’s halting footsteps approached the door.  She was totally unprepared for what greeted her when it finally swung open: Lexa, clad only in a dark, flowing, silk bathrobe, her thick locks tumbling over one shoulder as she toweled them dry.  Clarke’s jaw slackened and she nearly dropped the bags she was holding.</p><p>“Clarke!  Come in!”  Lexa’s face lit with a smile.  She moved aside and beckoned Clarke in.  “I’m so sorry, I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”</p><p>“No,” Clarke croaked, mouth dry as she tracked a stray droplet of water that trickled slowly down Lexa’s neck and vanished beneath the collar of her robe.  That first breathy <em>Clarke</em> echoed in Clarke’s ears and she missed the rest of what Lexa was saying.  “I’m sorry, what?”  She did her best not to ogle Lexa’s oh-so-long legs as she followed her into the apartment, but the robe’s thigh-high slit made resistance futile.  <em>Who even wore slinky robes to lounge around their own apartments?  And was that…glitter?</em> </p><p>“I said I wanted to take a shower before you came over, but it took a lot longer than I thought with these bandages.”</p><p>Some of Clarke’s sense returned and she tsked, “Lexa!  You’re not supposed to get them wet!” </p><p>“I was careful!  I wrapped them in plastic bags and sat with my feet out of the tub.  I just needed to wash off all the medical funk and feel clean.  Anyway, put your stuff wherever and make yourself at home.  I’ll be right back, I’m going to go put on some clothes.”</p><p><em>Or not.  You could NOT put on some clothes</em>.  Clarke gave herself a mental shake.  <em>Not helpful, Griffin!</em></p><p>Clarke set her bags on the floor by the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room and finally got a good look at Lexa’s place.  It was the reverse of Clarke’s own apartment: an open plan, polished hardwoods, large windows that overlooked the street along far wall, and a glass door leading to small balcony.  But where Clarke’s was somewhat sterile—mostly because it was still so empty—Lexa’s apartment felt warm and inviting.  Lived in.  Bookshelves ranged most of the open walls.  A sturdy wooden desk with Lexa’s laptop and several neat stacks of paperwork sat by the window where it would catch good light.  Black and white landscapes dotted the room, interspersed here and there with the bright pop of more colorful prints.  A comfortable-looking, albeit slightly worn sofa, a small leather armchair, and a coffee table were arranged on a thick, deep pile area rug near the center of the room.  Lexa’s bedraggled Christmas tree, still unadorned, stood forlornly in one corner where Clarke had righted it the night before.  A few wrapped gifts, presumably for Lexa’s family, were heaped on the floor nearby.  The cause of last night’s mayhem, Cas, was ensconced atop the sofa in what was clearly His Spot.  His unblinking, deep green eyes surveyed Clarke coolly, but the set of his ears and the tip of his tail’s slow twitch belied his watchfulness. </p><p>Lexa emerged from her room with her hair tamed in a loose bun.  She wore black yoga pants and a tunic-length slate blue sweater—the picture of coziness.  She found Clarke by the sofa with a hand outstretched to Cas, trying to make nice.  Clarke looked up as she came in; Cas just turned his head away in a pointed display of Ignoring the Humans.  “I don’t think he likes me,” Clarke said, withdrawing her hand.</p><p>“He doesn’t really <em>like</em> anyone,” Lexa said ruefully.  “Except maybe Anya.  My sister,” she added.  “He insists on curling up right next to her whenever she’s here.  She pretends that she hates cats, but I caught her talking baby talk to him.”  She grinned at the memory.  “Give him some yogurt—or better yet, lunch meat—and he’ll be your best friend.”</p><p>“Good to know.”</p><p>Cas flicked his ears as if to say he’d be the judge of that. </p><p>“Would you like something to drink?  There’s water, and maybe some juice.  It might be a little early, but I’ve got wine, too.  I’m not sure what else is here, I was planning to be out of town for a few days, so I haven’t been to the store.”</p><p>Clarke chided Lexa with a look.  “Lexa, it’s Christmas.”  She rummaged through one of her bags and held up a jug of eggnog mix in one hand and a liter of Jack Daniels in the other.  “It’s not Christmas without eggnog.”</p><p>Lexa nodded approval, but eyed the bottle askance.  “I can’t argue with that, but that’s…a lot of whiskey.”</p><p>Clarke shrugged and set the bottle on the bar.  “Go big or go home,” she said with a cheeky wink.  “Actually, what I could really use is some coffee,” she said, her grin morphing into a yawn.</p><p>“Of course.  I’m sorry again for keeping you up so late last night.” </p><p>Clarke bit her tongue to keep from noting that there were <em>better</em> ways that Lexa could have kept her up.  Instead, she shooed Lexa onto one of the barstools at the counter. </p><p>“No, you sit, you’re supposed to stay off your feet.  Just tell me where everything is and I can manage,” Clarke said, crossing her fingers that Lexa had a simple coffee maker and not the kind that required nuclear codes and a degree in astrophysics to operate. </p><p>Lexa sank into the seat without argument and directed Clarke where to find coffee, mugs, and all the necessary accoutrements.  While they waited for the coffee to brew, Clarke unpacked groceries from her bags.  She narrated as she went, filling the silence with a nervous patter.  “One thing I always love about Christmas is the <em>smells</em>—cut pine from the tree, gingerbread, baked goods fresh out of the oven—so I thought maybe we could bake some cookies later.  But I don’t know what kind of cookies you like, and I didn’t want to wake you up early to ask, so…I figured chocolate chip was a good bet.  I mean, who <em>doesn’t</em> like chocolate chip cookies?”</p><p>“Communists,” Lexa deadpanned.  She held a straight face until Clarke cracked up, then let a wide smile spread across her face.</p><p>
  <strong>*****</strong>
</p><p>Lexa cupped her hands around her mug and blew lightly on it to cool it enough to drink.  It was almost noon, but they’d decided to wait to order take out.  That was fine with Lexa; the butterflies in her belly had been working overtime ever since Clarke arrived.  She thought getting dressed had given her enough time to regain her equilibrium, but she got flustered all over again at the sight of Clarke moving around her kitchen.</p><p>It was those damn pants.  Well, technically leggings.  Clarke in workout tights was heartstopping enough, but the velour Christmas leggings she sported today—gaily festooned with Christmas trees and reindeer and, oddly enough, penguins in holiday garb—were downright criminal.  One look at them and Lexa’s admittedly tenuous chill had evaporated.  She’d babbled something inane about showering and escaped to her room.  Fortunately Clarke hadn’t seemed to notice her loss of composure.  At least not yet.  Lexa listened to Clarke ramble about coffee and baked goods with half an ear while she daydreamed about skimming her hands over the soft fabric and feeling the heat of Clarke’s taut thighs beneath.  But, oh, it got so much worse when Clarke slid onto the barstool beside her to drink her coffee, because now Lexa was sure she could feel that heat radiating, mere inches away. </p><p>She sucked in a sharp breath when their thighs brushed.</p><p>“You ok?” Clarke asked, angling herself sideways to see Lexa better.  Lexa could have sworn Clarke was looking at her lips, but then Clarke took a sip of her coffee and she thought she must have imagined it.</p><p>“Yeah, just burned my tongue a little.”  At that, Clarke’s gaze <em>definitely</em> dipped to her mouth, and now it wasn’t just coffee making Lexa feel hot.  She took another, more careful, swallow and cleared her throat to try to diffuse the tension. “Um, how about some music?  What do you feel like listening to?”</p><p>“I think you get coal in your stocking if you don’t listen to Christmas music on Christmas.”</p><p>Lexa laughed.  “Okay.  What’s your favorite Christmas song?”</p><p>Clarke gave her a sidelong glance.  “Promise you won’t laugh?”  Lexa shook her head.  “I guess I’d have to go with ‘Holly Jolly Christmas.’  When I was a kid, my dad had this Burl Ives Christmas record, and we’d always listen to it while we decorated the tree.  It always makes me think of him.”</p><p>Lexa hesitated, unsure whether to ask.  “What happened?” </p><p>“He died when I was in high school.  Car accident.”  She stared into her coffee and added quietly, “Christmas was never really the same after that.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“No, don’t be,” Clarke said, reaching over and giving Lexa’s hand an impulsive squeeze.  “It’s been a long time, and I know he’d want me to be happy on Christmas.  In fact—” she swiveled around on the stool “—why don’t we decorate your tree?”</p><p>Lexa looked dubious.  “Should we bother?  It’s already Christmas.”</p><p>Clarke made a face at her.  “C’mon, don’t be a Grinch.”</p><p>“Don’t give the Grinch a bad name,” Lexa protested weakly, “he decorated the tree in the end.”</p><p>Clarke nudged her gently with her shoulder.  “Kind of making my point, Lexa.”</p><p>They finished their coffee and, with Alexa playing Burl Ives in the background, set about salvaging the tree.  Ignoring her protests, Clarke wheeled Lexa into the living room in her desk chair (“Clarke, I’m not an invalid!” “Shut up, Miss Daisy”).  Clarke steadied the tree in its stand and quickly strung some lights on it. </p><p>“Wait, there’s a big mashed spot on this side,” Lexa said, casting a critical eye at Cas’s handiwork.  She motioned at Clarke to shift the tree.  “Turn it to the left…yeah, like that…a little more…No, stop!  Back…back…yeah, right there!”</p><p>“That’s what she said,” Clarke cracked.  Her cheeks pinked as she caught Lexa’s eye, and she quickly busied herself adjusting the lights on the tree.</p><p>Lexa let the comment pass and scooted herself closer to the tree to help with decorating, but now she found herself imagining how Clarke’s throaty voice would sound giving her those same directions in a more intimate setting.  It didn’t help that Clarke’s leggings had words emblazoned on them in festive red letters.  From Clarke’s perspective they said “HO HO HO,” but to Lexa they read “OH OH OH,” and those moans she’d heard from Clarke’s bedroom came flooding back in spades.  She ducked her head, more to hide her blush than to put hooks on ornaments.</p><p>They worked in silence for a little while, each of them caught up in their own daydreams.  Clarke trimmed the top of the tree while Lexa decorated the lower limbs so she could remain seated.  Lexa couldn’t help but sneak glances at Clarke when she wasn’t looking, because really, what kind of lesbian would she be if she didn’t take in the flex of Clarke’s ass and calves and the thin sliver of bare skin that was exposed at her midriff when she went up on tiptoe to trim the uppermost branches? </p><p>Alexa finally ran out of Burl Ives and segued into a more varied mix of modern and traditional holiday tunes.  A familiar piano intro came on, and Lexa began humming along under her breath.  After a line or two, a second voice joined in.  She looked up to see Clarke’s blue eyes sparkling as she sang along, and an answering smile spread across Lexa’s face.  Lexa quirked an eyebrow at Clarke before the second verse commenced and she nodded eagerly, understanding Lexa’s intent immediately.  The melody picked up in earnest and they sang the next verses in unison, then traded off for the call and response section.  By the time the final refrain rolled around, they were both belting out, “The boys of the NYPD choir were singing Galway Bay,” at top volume and swaying to the music. </p><p>“I love that song,” Lexa said when it was over, still smiling wide.  “I think that might be <em>my</em> favorite Christmas song.”</p><p>“Really?” Clarke said curiously.</p><p>“Yeah.  I mean, I know it ends badly, but the idea—being able to take on the world as long as there’s someone special beside you to share your dreams with, especially at Christmas—I’ve always liked that.”</p><p>“I can see that,” Clarke said, looking thoughtfully at Lexa. </p><p>“All right, I think that’s the last of the ornaments,” Lexa said.  They backed away from the tree to see how it looked from a distance with all its shiny baubles and glistening lights. </p><p>Clarke said, “What do you think?”</p><p>Lexa paused for a moment to take it in.  “I think it’s beautiful,” she said quietly, but her face was turned toward Clarke.</p><p>
  <strong>*****</strong>
</p><p>The apartment felt infinitely more festive with the tree decorated.  Clarke and Lexa retreated to the sofa for a second cup of coffee while they decided what to do next.  For some long moments, they did nothing, content to enjoy each other’s presence and appreciate the day.  Clarke found it refreshing: no schedules to follow, no expectations to live up to, no demands on her time other than those she chose.  She was just about to say so, when Lexa spoke up.</p><p>“This is nice.  I’m glad you came over, Clarke.”</p><p>“Me too,” Clarke replied, practically glowing under Lexa’s shy smile.  “I’ve been wanting to get to know you for a while.  Octavia gives me crap about it every time I talk to her.”  Her eyes widened when she realized what she’d said, and she clamped her mouth shut, hoping Lexa hadn’t noticed.</p><p>No such luck.  “Who’s Octavia?”</p><p><em>Shit</em>.  “She’s my best friend from high school.”</p><p>Clarke tried to sound casual, but now Lexa’s interest was thoroughly piqued.  She twisted sideways to give Clarke her full attention, the ghost of a smirk at her lips. “You talk to your friends about me?”</p><p>Clarke didn’t answer right away.  Lexa’s boatneck collar had slipped down to expose her shoulder and bra strap when she moved, and the hollow of Lexa’s collarbone demanded Clarke’s undivided attention.  She wanted nothing more than to paint it with slow, lingering kisses.</p><p>“Clarke?”</p><p>“No!  I mean…not all the time,” Clarke said quickly.  Lexa made a faint hum that could have meant anything, but she said nothing, seemingly content to watch Clarke squirm.  Her green eyes danced and she was <em>definitely</em> smirking now, which only made Clarke flail harder.  “I told her about the Coffee Incident, and now she keeps asking if I’ve talked to you.”  Clarke’s face flamed as she recalled Octavia’s exact phrasing—<em>when are you going to ask the hot neighbor chick out?</em>—but she wasn’t about to tell Lexa <em>that</em>.  Not yet, at least.</p><p>Lexa looked like she had more questions, but Clarke changed the subject to head them off.  “Anyway, <em>yes</em>, I’ve mentioned you to my friends, and <em>yes</em>, I wanted to hang out.  I just wish it was under better circumstances.” </p><p>Lexa let her off the hook.  “Well, yeah.  But I’m still having a good time.  With you.”  She seemed to give the last words a little extra weight.  “Don’t get me wrong, though,” she continued, a mischievous gleam in her eye, “I’d bail on you in a heartbeat for some of Dad’s homemade chocolate turtle cookies.”</p><p>Clarke gasped in mock outrage, barely holding back a laugh.  “Lexa!  You say that now, but you’ve never tasted <em>my</em> cookies!” </p><p>Much to Clarke’s delight, the tips of Lexa’s ears reddened.  Her eyes strayed toward Clarke’s chest before snapping back up.  Her voice was noticeably thicker.  “Well then, what are we waiting for?”</p><p>
  <strong>*****</strong>
</p><p>They migrated back to the kitchen.  Lexa once again perched on a stool at the counter.  Clarke, meanwhile, bopped around the kitchen humming along to Taylor Swift’s beat.  She searched the cabinets for Lexa’s mixing bowls and baking sheets and then assembled the cookie ingredients.  Much as she admired the spectacle of Clarke’s ass while she bent and squatted and stretched, Lexa was struck even more by how comfortable and <em>right</em> it felt to have Clarke in her apartment and rummaging through her space with familiarity.  She didn’t bother trying to conceal her dopey smile until a question from Clarke interrupted her thoughts.</p><p>“Hey, Lex, do you have an apron?”</p><p>“Ah, no.  Sorry.”</p><p>“Hm.” </p><p>Clarke’s next move caught Lexa totally off guard.  One minute Lexa was trying not to smile at Clarke’s adorable frown, and the next she was having heart palpitations, because Clarke peeled her red sweater up and over her head in one fluid motion, leaving her clad in just a black tank top.  Lexa’s sudden inhale must have been audible even over the music because Clarke looked over at her.  Even worse, she crossed the kitchen to drape her discarded sweater over an empty barstool.   </p><p>“Don’t want to get flour on it,” Clarke explained. </p><p>Lexa willed her gaze to stay at eye level and not to follow the subtle bob of Clarke’s breasts as she moved, but it was a losing proposition. </p><p>“You ok there?” Clarke asked.</p><p>“Yup,” Lexa croaked, not trusting herself to say more. </p><p>Now it was Clarke’s turn to smirk at Lexa’s thinly disguised thirst.  It was a good thing she sauntered back around the bar (<em>was it, though?</em>), because Lexa was a hairsbreadth from seizing her by that tank top, pressing her back against the counter, and kissing that knowing grin right off her face.</p><p>They split cookie production between them: Clarke mixed the ingredients to make the cookie dough and Lexa formed the dough into balls and spooned them onto the baking sheets.  She passed the pans back to Clarke to pop in the oven.  Clarke poured their first round of eggnog and came around the bar to sit with Lexa while the cookies baked.  She held up her cup to Lexa’s in a little toast and they clinked them together.  “Teamwork, baby!” </p><p>Lexa was grateful for the whiskey’s bracing bite.  It was hard enough not to ogle when Clarke was ten feet away, but now she was close enough for Lexa to see the faint scatter of flour that streaked the swell of her cleavage.  Lexa itched to brush it away, first—slowly—with her fingers, and then—even more slowly—with her lips.  It was a good thing it was warm in the apartment, she thought, or else Clarke’s nipples would be poking through the thin fabric, and…<em>sweet baby Jesus, why did I let myself go there?</em>  Lexa clutched her cup and prayed that her thoughts weren’t written all over her face. </p><p>The aroma of baking cookies soon filled the room.  Clarke pulled the first batch out of the oven and slid the cookies onto cooling racks.  Then they repeated the assembly process for the second round.  Clarke brought two of the still-warm cookies back with her and handed one to Lexa. </p><p>“Okay, moment of truth.”</p><p>They each took a bite.  Lexa closed her eyes in bliss and savored the crunchy, chewy goodness.  Warm, gooey chocolate oozed onto her hand, and she didn’t think twice before licking the sticky sweetness off her fingers.  “Mmm, these are good, but I think we’re going to need a larger sample size.”</p><p>Clarke didn’t reply.  Lexa looked up from her hand and her breath hitched in her throat.  Clarke was openly staring at her.  Her eyes had darkened to a deep, almost midnight hue.  Her lips were parted in a small ‘O’ and she had a smear of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. </p><p>“Clarke,” she said softly, “you’ve got some right here—” she grazed her thumb over Clarke’s cheek without <em>quite</em> touching her but close enough to feel Clarke tremble.  “<em>Clarke</em>,” she whispered, leaning in, her pulse hammering in her ears—and <em>how</em> had they gotten so close?  Her fingers slid up to cup Clarke’s jaw and finally, <em>finally</em>, she took the plunge and kissed her.</p>
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